The Camp Fire Girls Do Their Bit eBook

Sahwah was coming up the cellar stairs with a basket
of clothes in her hand. Just as she passed the
side entry door she heard someone fumbling with the
knob on the outside. The knob turned and the door
began to open softly. “Who’s there?”
called Sahwah sharply, switching on the light in the
entry and throwing wide the door. There stood
Veronica, with her violin under her arm and her hat
and coat on. She started back when she saw Sahwah
and the two stood looking into each other’s eyes.
“She hasn’t been home, she’s still
got her violin,” was the thought that went through
Sahwah’s mind.

“I thought you went home with a sick headache
from the party,” she said in astonishment.

“So did the rest of them,” replied Veronica
imperturbably.

Their eyes met and held for a second, and it seemed
to Sahwah that Veronica looked haggard and haunted.

“Is everybody home?” asked Veronica presently.

“Yes,” replied Sahwah, “and, O Veronica—­”
and she told her the news.

“Oh, poor, poor Nyoda!” cried Veronica,
and throwing off her hat and coat she thrust them
with her violin into the closet under the stairs and
then sped upstairs.

“She didn’t have a headache at all, she
didn’t go home, she went somewhere else,”
throbbed Sahwah’s weary brain. “And
whatever she’s done, she’s scared to death
about it,” it throbbed on. “Why did
she come stealing in the back door that way?”

Worried and perplexed, but still loyal to her promise
to say nothing to the others about Veronica, Sahwah
went on sorting and carrying up the ironed clothes.

Upstairs Migwan was helping Nyoda get dressed for
her journey. Nyoda was still in her George Washington
suit, which she had concealed under a long cloak on
the way home, and Migwan’s hands trembled so
with excitement she could hardly take out the endless
pins that they had put in with so much fun and laughter
a few hours before.

“How did Sherry, happen to be on the ocean?”
Nyoda asked wonderingly. “He was in France
the last time I heard from him. Why would he be
coming to America now?”

Migwan could not answer the question, she could only
press her beloved Guardian’s hand tight in hers
by way of sympathy and then fly back at the pins,
which all seemed to be allied against them, for they
buried their heads out of sight and thrust their points
where Migwan’s shaking fingers caught and tore
themselves upon them. The suit was off at last
and Migwan tucked Nyoda into bed for an hour of rest
while she pressed her dark blue silk traveling dress
and sewed fresh collars and cuffs into her jacket.